


Falling in Love II: It's Happening Now

by dragoon811



Series: Falling In Love [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Time Travel, coworkers-freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoon811/pseuds/dragoon811
Summary: Hermione is falling in love with Severus Snape. Literally. Continuation of the series/fic written for Toblass.





	Falling in Love II: It's Happening Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Toblass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toblass/gifts).



> **Author's Note:** Well lah dee DAH look what it is. It’s ME. Dropping the second fic in the series on y’all like it’s no big deal. Toblass, darling, this is for you. :)

Severus Snape sat in the dim light of their shared office, a long-cold cup of tea on his desk. He stared blankly at the extravagant-yet-practical expanse of Hermione’s empty desk. Even this late into the evening she would often still be there, quill or biro flying across her papers with the occasional tome hovering nearby. And of course, she would eventually look up and see him, seemingly startled, and ask why he was still there.

Watching her was never the correct response, albeit the truthful one, so he was prone to short replies and inventing reasons to stay late. He missed their conversations, missed working with her, or watching her get caught up in something. She was brilliant and exciting. 

Her tidy stacks of files sat untouched, mocking him with her absence. Idly, he ran his fingers through Crookshanks’ ginger fur, feeling the faint rumble under his fingertips. His missed her dearly.

...And he was so close to having her back.

* * *

The next morning found his office quite the same as he’d left it the night previous, and he had to stop himself from snagging her mug to fill it with coffee out of habit. Without his partner, there seemed little point in going through the motions, either. Oh, he could waste his time brewing potions, or he could look over spells...or he could wait. He could idle away the time.

His own mug filled, drained, and refilled, he set about puttering with his supply cabinet under the pretense of checking expiry dates, sorting, and wiping the shelves down, if only to stop from compulsively checking the frame on his desk. 

Severus remembered far too clearly dragging her out of the lake, the way she’d followed him to the hospital wing with that look of relief and wary recognition. And then she’d walked out the front gates and disappeared.

For three weeks, anyway, when he had quite literally bumped into her in Fisk Alley buying produce of questionable freshness. She’d lit up at the sight of him, he recalled, with such familiarity that he’d been foolish enough to engage her in conversation. He had been off balance enough to take tea with her, and she’d been so...unafraid. So happy. And absolutely immune to the worst of his snotty, acerbic ways.

In fact, she’d found it terribly entertaining, as if they were old friends.

Which, he supposed, from her perspective they were. He’d been enthralled by her.

Severus tossed a bottle of somewhat mildewed beetle eyes towards the bin and wiped the sticky residue left by magic and dust off the shelf perfunctorily before moving onto the next set of jars.

He still wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. Hermione had gotten under his skin so quickly that he met with her in London several times before the school year began. He’d also asked—with a lump in his throat—if she’d be willing to meet with him one weekend. And she’d agreed. Worse, she’d called it a date, caught herself, blushed and spluttered and then he’d found himself calling it the same and they’d stared awkwardly at each other... He remembered wanting to kiss her, then. But hadn’t. Not for a long time.

* * *

“Keep off my books,” he told the cat, who padded behind him into the impersonal living room. The half-kneazle had somehow managed to follow his Apparition, but he’d been around enough magical creatures not to be too surprised. Severus paused. “And do try to keep your abominable fur out of _this_ coffee pot.”

Crookshanks gave him what he considered the feline equivalent of a middle finger, something Severus was all-too familiar with, and sauntered into the kitchen where he sat and waited, tail twitching.

“I suppose you want to be fed.”

Twitch. Twitch.

“Very well. However, I am not going out to look for cat food at this hour, so you’re going to have to suffer tonight.” Severus opened the derelict ice box and retrieved the chicken leftover from lunch...well, he wasn’t certain which day it had been, but it was fresh enough. That was what stasis charms were for, after all.

The beast was appeased with his offering, and Severus ate his way through a portion as well.

He wondered what Hermione had seen in him. Younger him. The photo today had been clearer when he’d checked before heading home. It was a Muggle photograph, from when she’d enticed him out into London proper. She had gotten a little disposable camera, giddy-drunk on the idea, and even accosted a passer-by to take photos of them. She had then proceeded to drag him to a one-hour photo place, and they’d gone over the horrible, blurry photos in an all-night cafe, stacking the decent ones next to their empty mugs as the autumn rain covered the dingy windows with crystal-clear droplets. He remembered the neon lighting catching her hair, the way she’d smiled, and how he could see her heart in her eyes when they’d met his. He’d hoped he hadn’t looked like the besotted fool he was.

The Floo flashed brightly as he was preparing for bed, and he hesitated, the shelf revealing the stairs already open and one foot on the step.

Despite his better judgment, he answered it.

“Snape?”

He rolled his eyes. “Who else would be answering my Floo, Potter?”

Despite his penchant for cheek, the boy was often lost when faced with sarcasm. 

“Do you know where Hermione is? No one’s seen her in three days.”

Three very long, lonely days. He was well aware of every empty minute.

Severus paused before replying, unsure how much he could reveal before the Ministry confidentiality bindings stilled his tongue. “In London.”

The head floating in his fire place sagged in relief. “She’s alright, then? Even a Patronus hasn’t reached her.”

Dammit. “She’s not in this London,” Severus replied carefully. She was in 1982, but the words wouldn’t come. “And perfectly safe.”

“That...was a little disjointed,” Potter said slowly. “Are you sure?”

“I am technically with her.” The boy never had been particularly good at subtlety, either. He’d only taken one unusually broken sentence to sort out that the witch he’d met wasn’t from his exact timeline. Granted, she’d been wearing Ministry robes, which had helped a bit, but still. Potter was somehow a high-ranking Auror. He was _supposed_ to deduce nonsense like this. “Is there a pressing concern regarding her lack of communication?”

“Er, her parents are worried.”

“Reassure them.”

“Do you know how much longer she’ll be...away?” Alright, fine. Perhaps he wasn’t too much of a dunderhead.

“I am uncertain.” The photo was clearer, yes, but not clear enough.

“Well, alright then. As long as you’re sure she’s safe?”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I am going to bed, Potter. She will return in due time.”

Time. That fickle bitch who had given him Hermione, taken her away, given her back...and then taken her away again.

* * *

Later, long after the last embers in the fireplace had died and Crookshanks had curled by his feet for slumber, Severus lay awake, a weight in his chest keeping him from sleep.

How much longer until she returned? And would she still want him, as she’d said?

He was so close to having her back.

* * *

The radio on the counter top played something she didn’t recognise, but then, she’d been living in a tent as she waited for the Unspeakables to find a way to send her home. “I like this one,” Hermione said, holding it up to him. “I mean, it’s not the greatest of photos...but I like it.”

Across from her, Severus snorted derisively and plucked it from her fingers. She studied him as he studied the image. She spent her time with him torn. On one hand, he was very much her partner and former professor. On the other hand, well, it was blindingly obvious that she fancied him. This him and the him she knew. She missed her partner, but more than enjoyed her time with the man she now knew as well. Every moment was balanced between what she wanted to say and what she could say, but she had Severus and it was enough. He was enough.

“It’s terrible.”

“It’s not!” She snagged it back from him, watching him from under her lashes. Damn the bastard, he was smiling. She grinned back, adding it to the keep pile.

After a moment he dropped her gaze. She tried to convince herself that the pink staining his cheeks was from the window’s old signage, and not from something more. She had spent too much time lately wondering if he’d liked her, and if future-him liked her.

“I want this one,” he said suddenly. The image disappeared into a pocket.

She balked.

“I didn’t even get to see it!”

“You’ll see it later,” he assured her, caressing her hand with warm familiarity before retreating. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as it always did when he touched her and she smiled again.

“What, are you going to frame it?”

“Perhaps. I could. I probably have one rattling around my house.” He shrugged gracefully, taking another sip of terrible coffee. His lips twisted in disgust and he dumped in another measure of sugar.

“I thought you liked your coffee black,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Severus paused mid-stir, watching her warily. “I do.”

Hermione bit her lip. “So why the sugar?”

“Because it tastes burnt.” He hesitated, the mug hovering at his lips. “Hermione...”

“Sorry.”

Again, that snort. Coffee sloshed over the rim and onto her discarded tea bags as he set his mug down with a thump. “It is unnecessary to watch what you say. It has been blatantly obvious for months both that you are temporally displaced and that you know me.”

Her shoulders sagged. She never really had been much of a liar; Merlin knew McGonagall had never believed her about the troll.

“And it is also obvious that you don’t wish to discuss it further.” There was a flash of pain in his eyes. She knew him well enough to know that he was hiding something, and she suddenly hoped that maybe he liked her.

“It’s not that,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s just...complicated.”

“The confidentially bindings.”

“Sort of. But I...well, yes, alright, I know you. I work with you. I’ve known you in a few capacities-“

“Intimately, perhaps?” His tone was dry and clipped. He was hurt. She was spurred now to continue, bravado and hope coursing through her veins. She’d known for months it was the Love Door that had sent her here...

She shook her head in an effort to assure him. “Never. The closest I’ve physically been to you was the first time I saw you blow a cauldron and you put yourself between it and me. Well, and...now.”

He was watching her, black eyes studying her.

Her cheeks were heated, and she curled her fingers into her palms, trying to rush the words out. “I’m not certain how I’ve gone through time. It’s not supposed to work this way. It’s not what I do. I quite literally _fell_. I’m not trying to trick you or get close to you. You’re my friend and partner.”

“Nothing more?”

She hastily blinked back tears. “You’re my type, in every way, but...no. I’m open to it, though.” She met his gaze. “Very open to it.”

His eyes were hot, eager and hopeful.

“If you were interested,” she whispered.

“Very.”

* * *

Hermione clutched the little envelope of photos with one hand and twisted the other into the fabric of his jacket for support as he kissed her. The brick wall of the cafe behind her was rough and firm, snagging her hair, but she frankly couldn’t care less. He was lean and warm and an excellent kisser. Long, dizzying kisses. Short, hard kisses. She was absolutely breathless and trying to climb into his arms.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” he whispered into her ear with a ragged voice. One long-fingered hand slid under her shirt and she wrapped a leg around his, turning to pepper his face with kisses.

“Same,” she managed. His hand was warm on her waist despite the chill of the rain and she willed it higher.

“And the me you’ll know?” His fingers edged upwards.

That froze her as she realised just how _that_ was going to play out, and he seemed to realise he’d said the wrong thing as he cursed and disentangled himself from her.

“Severus-“

“Spare me,” he said with a snarl.

Hermione rolled her eyes and forced refused to let him back away. “Oh shut up,” she said irritably. “I spent a week solid fantasizing about you after you blew that bloody cauldron. I’ve spent weeks _now_ fantasizing about you-both you’s-and the only bloody reason I stopped is absolutely maddeningly stupid but it’s because I really don’t know how you’ll react to when you realise you’ve groped a student, even though I’m not now, and really, how is that very fair to you?”

He was breathing heavily still from kissing her, rain misting along the faint spell along his clothes and leaving his hair soaked.

“Your teacher?” He seemed mildly horrified. Well, horrified was better than Apparating away in disgust.

She nodded. “I’m alright with it. But it...it should be your choice to make.”

“My choice or his?” Severus asked bitterly. “I...want you.”

Well, she was well past want and into heavy emotional investment. Hermione shrugged. “Does it matter? I’ll want you tomorrow and if and when I get back.”

“And how much time will have passed for me?”

Too long. She grimaced as the words didn’t come out. “Apparently I can’t answer that.”

Severus looked at her. “You...you are one of the better things to happen to me, Hermione.”

“I can wait,” she assured him. “You’ll have time to get to know me again.” 

Twin cracks made her jump; her wand and his in their hands. Ministry robes. She lowered her wand, he didn’t. 

“Hermione Granger.” Not a question. “The door’s open. You can go back.”

Also not a question.

“And if she doesn’t want to?” The haughty, bored tone was so Severus. She squeezed his shoulder gently. 

“I have to. I need to.” He looked at her from his peripheral; his wand hadn’t left his hand. “You’re there, Severus. If you want me.”

She kissed him again, softly, tears welling in her eyes. The Unspeakables were gentle as they led her a safe Apparating distance away from him. The door was open. She willed herself to say it.

“I love you,” she said, holding his gaze. “I love you now, and I’ll love you then.” The Unspeakable closest to her extended an arm. Hermione paused, fingers hovering as she suddenly remembered his odd behaviour, and blurted; “One week! One week from when the cauldron explodes, by four. I’ll be _here_!”

Then they were gone with a pop

He was still holding his wand, photos of a couple against an autumn lake scattered around the pavement at his feet, when the echo faded away.

* * *

Hermione stood before the Love Door. Unspeakables hovered around it, casting various diagnostic spells among copious notes and muttering. It was to be expected, she supposed. After all, the door wasn’t supposed to open. It was supposed to be locked.

And yet here it was, the lock clearly open. 

She wondered if any Unspeakables had tried the handle; probably, knowing their sort. But it was all but a giant neon sign for her, flashing away. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded to herself.

She had been rushing past when she’d gone through the door last, but there was no panic now. She didn’t know what to expect when she grasped the knob, but her worries faded away. It was all right; she knew she was going home.

Hermione couldn’t help but close her eyes as she took the step inside. Instead of fear, she felt wrapped in safe arms. There was no sensation of falling, but of floating. It was warm, and joyous, and when she opened her eyes, she was standing right in the doorway of their office.

Severus was bent over a sheaf of papers on his desk, writing hurriedly and his nose almost touching the parchment as he worked. The sight of him was so dearly missed that it took her a moment to realise what else was on his desk.

Her breath caught in happiness as she saw that same frame on his desk, but it was no longer empty. It now held a somewhat bent photo of two people framed by autumn trees against a man-made lake. Her, smiling widely in laughter and holding onto his arm as she’d nearly slipped in mud. Him, wearing a wry grimace just turning into a grin as he supported her, looking like he had no idea how the mad witch had gotten him into such a predicament but that he wouldn’t change it for the world.

She’d never seen the photo before. He’d spirited it into a pocket in the cafe before she could catch a glimpse. Hope surged in her. 

“Severus?”

His quill stopped.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Yes, I know, I’m awful. Part 3 shall be coming eventually, but I’m not sure if it should be smutty or not. On a side note...Where has dragoon been? Well, I’ve been quite busy! I’ve gotten a promotion at work, and I’ve had a baby! Her name is Rose, and she’ll be one this September!


End file.
